Breathless
by hansprinsessa
Summary: An honorable vampire, an intelligent whore, and a conversation in a brothel that changes everything.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello there, dear readers. I've been kicking this idea around in my head for well over a month now, and finally decided to bite the bullet and get down to business. The controversy after the scene in "Whatever I Am, You Made Me" had me flipping my shit all over the place after so many people insinuated that Pam forced Eric to turn her. I maintain that nobody can force Eric Northman to do **_**anything **_**he doesn't want to do. He **_**wanted**_** to turn her. So, this is my version of events, from his point of view. It can stand alone as a one-shot, but if there's interest, I'll be glad to continue on. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Eric and Pamela. Boo.**

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_I struggle to find myself this time_

_Save yourself for a man with a conscience_

_I fight to find myself this time_

_Save yourself for a man that is not me_

_I spend my days looking through pages_

_Trying to find a way, to get away from me_

_With love to give that leaves you breathless_

_Now all I need to find, a way back inside my mind._

_I don't want to leave you breathless_

_When will you realize?_

_I don't want to leave you breathless_

_When will you save yourself?_

_ -"Breathless" Asking Alexandria_

"What's it like? Being what you are?"

My fingers trace from behind her ear, down her elegant neck, across her shoulder and down her side as I ask myself again what I'm even doing here. I came here, to this brothel, to it's madam, for sex. And just as I always do, I got what I wanted. And yet…still I lie here in this bed.

She intrigues me. Intrigues me in a way no other human ever has. When I found her in the darkened street last night, she did not cower in fear once I revealed what I was. And for the first time in my long life, I did not glamour away that knowledge. Instead, I went to my rest with her on my mind, and at nightfall when I rose, I searched for her place of business.

I had to see her again. Taste her.

Her shrewd business sense threw me for a loop. First, her blatant refusal to compete with her girls, although there was no competition…the whores she presided over were disgusting to my senses, both human and vampire. I could smell the illness in their blood, and not one of them could compare to Pamela's beauty. I was more taken with her than I care to admit, before I even entered her establishment, and no other whore's body would suffice.

_Everything has it's price._ Her price was not monetary, no; she was smart enough to put two and two together, realizing the person killing her girls was not human. And as if she didn't intrigue me enough already, she showed no fear as I schooled Lorena's sniveling baby vampire. When she demanded compensation for the deaths of her prostitutes, it was impossible to keep the smirk from my lips.

I could barely wait until the wayward vampires left the room before my lips were on hers. I cannot recall the last time, if there even was a last time, I kissed a human. But I found I couldn't help myself as I watched her full lips quirk up into a smile from across the room. It only took me a few strides to be at her side, my hand wrapping around her slender neck almost completely as I roughly pulled her face to mine. I still do not understand the tenderness with which our lips met, or why I couldn't pull away after the first time as I swept her away to the bedroom she pointed me towards.

We did indeed have a debt to settle, and settle it we did. Several times.

It was getting rather late by then, and still I did not leave. Nor did she ask me to. Instead, I watched with poorly veiled interest as she rolled away from me, folding those talented little hands under her cheek before she drifted off to sleep. I had been with very few human women who could keep up with me like she had, and it had left her understandably weary.

Perhaps that was my cue to take my departure, but I did not go. I had never been so close to a sleeping human; who, besides this woman, had ever been brave enough to close their eyes in my presence? I was entranced by her heartbeat slowing, the rise and fall of her body with each breath. So memorized was I by Pamela that I'm unsure how long I even laid there, perhaps hours; watching her, breathing in her scent, until I finally reached out to touch her again.

My fingers first combed through her golden tresses, almost the exact same color as my own, before I touched her neck, wanting to feel her heartbeat under my fingertips. My caresses woke her, but yet she did not turn to me, instead casually asking that silly question over her shoulder. Completely unaware that anyone that I have revealed myself to in the nine-hundred years I've walked this earth has ended up dead, or at the very least, glamoured of that knowledge.

I should glamour her now, and leave, and never come back. But for some reason, leaving this woman with no memory of me grates on my nerves in a way I am most unaccustomed to.

She knows what I am, and yet she is not afraid; if anything, she is intrigued. She's seen me kill a human with my bare hands, throw another vampire clear across the room with barely a flick of my wrist, and yet she doesn't shy away from my touch. She isn't afraid to fall asleep with a bloodthirsty creature resting at her side.

She's either my perfect companion, or incredibly stupid.

Even as I think it, I know it isn't the truth. She's brave, and intelligent, more intelligent than any other woman I've met. She is strikingly beautiful, her blood is sweet, and she was most satisfying earlier in this bed, her business savvy obviously being only one of her many talents.

For the first time in my existence, I briefly consider taking a pet. I could take her with me when I leave town, enjoy her for a few years before her human life takes it's toll. I, however, quickly shake that notion. I came to San Francisco for a reason, and I cannot drag a human along with me in my search for the wolves I've been tracking for centuries, and the thought of watching this beautiful woman age repulses me in more ways than I care to explain to myself.

I can already see myself returning here to her, night after night.

But for now, she asked me a question, and I find myself perplexed at my compulsion to answer her. Nobody questions me and lives to tell about it. But answering her is exactly what I find myself doing, vague as that answer may be.

"Oh, it would take several of your lifetimes to answer that question," I murmur lowly into the dimly lit room, my fingers continuing their path down her ribcage, where I can feel her lungs expanding and contracting with each breath underneath my fingertips.

She turns over onto her back, the sheets clutched around her, covering her perfect breasts, her feigned modesty as amusing as everything else about her. She rolls her head to face me, her tousled curls splayed across her pillow, framing her face like a golden halo; a smile curving those petal-soft lips.

"Then make me a vampire and we'll have all the time in the world."

I stare blankly at her for a moment as she gives voice to something that was already in the back of my mind, but was quickly dismissed. I have no desire to become a maker. I prefer my solitude, being a loner, as I have been since I left Godric's side so many years ago.

My fingertips graze her arm as I reply, "You don't know what you're asking."

Her smile fades as those huge blue eyes grow impossibly wider. "Yes, I do. I'm not afraid."

I have to suppress a smile, irritatingly enough. "I can see that. Most humans beg for me to spare their lives and you want me to take yours."

"I want you to give me one worth living."

"You seem to be doing quite well for yourself," I answer truthfully. "Your profession might not be glamorous, but it's more honest than most."

She sighs, slowly rolling away from me, onto her back. When she speaks again, her voice is broken, her eyes staring off into the room.

"Do you know what happens to women like me when we get old?" She doesn't wait for an answer to her question before she continues, "We're pariahs. We die alone in the dark; syphilis, TB…if you had any idea what kind of life awaits me, you wouldn't hesitate to turn me."

My indignation begins to rise at the gall of this woman, and I hold on tightly to that irritation, because it helps me ignore the pang of some foreign emotion at the thought of this beautiful creature aging, dying somewhere alone.

"And if you had any idea the responsibility that comes with being a maker you wouldn't dare ask," I answer hotly.

She turns back over to face me, resting her chin against her slender fingers as she answers, her tone soft but her voice passionate. She's trying her best to convince me of something I refuse to consider, and I can't help but admire her bravery once again, although I should fucking end her, tonight, for daring to speak to me this way.

"Then make me and leave me. I'll take care of myself, I always have."

The very thought of doing such a thing causes me to bristle. "Would you toss a newborn baby in a gutter?" The look that crosses her face tells me her answer to that question. "Abandoning a new vampire is no different."

I've had enough. I need to get out of here, I've spent too long here already.

Internally, I'm at war. I want her. But I can't…no, I'll have to glamour her, she knows too much. But yet, my maker's own words after he set me free tug at my consciousness. _When I saw you on your funeral pyre, I felt an undeniable pull towards you. I knew you were to be my progeny. You will know when it's time to for you to become a maker, my son. You will know._

I take one long look at her face before I pull the blankets back and begin to get dressed, unaccustomed and uncomfortable with the thoughts flying through my ancient mind. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I pull my trousers on over my bare legs. Without looking back at her, I spout off another one of Godric's teachings, trying to convince myself moreso than her.

"Becoming a maker is an eternal commitment," I state matter-of-factly as I stand to pull up my pants. "Greater than any marriage, deeper than any human bond."

I sit back down before I risk a glance over my shoulder at her as she stares at the ceiling, the look on her face as unreadable as any vampire's.

"To throw that away is sacrilege." If, and that's a big _if_, I were ever to become a maker, leaving my progeny to fend for themselves would not be an option. Godric taught me better than that. And if it _was_ her? To make her part of me, and then walk away without a second glance, when I can barely tear myself away from her side as a lowly human after only seeing her twice?

I have got to get out of here.

Her voice breaks into my musings, her tone thick with sarcasm. "An honorable vampire. Isn't that a contradiction."

"No more than an intelligent whore, yet here we are." I regret my harsh words almost immediately, knowing from my brief time with this woman she is much more than that, but I continue to dress, pulling on my socks before grabbing my boots.

She lays still for a moment as I dress before I hear her pull the blankets back and stand, crossing the room to the small table in the corner as she pulls on a sheer robe. I refuse to look at her, although I track her each and every move. I can smell her tears before I hear her sniffling. Even in my human life, that ended almost a thousand years ago, I've never been able to deal with a woman's tears. And I put them there, if not by my refusal, then by my hurtful words. I frown at my feet, irritated with myself for giving a shit either way.

I _really _have got to get the fuck out of this brothel.

The sound of a blade slicing into soft skin, followed by her strangled sob, causes me to freeze as I'm bent over, pulling on my boot.

Then the smell of her blood assaults my senses. Arterial blood. No…

"Pamela…" I speak her name as I rise to my feet, panic rising in me in a way I have not felt in centuries. She turns to me, blood coursing from her forearms from two deep gashes in her milky-white skin. I barely recognize my own voice as I whisper, "What have you done?"

I watch the tears streaming down her lovely face as I hear the words that would forever change my existence…

"_Let me walk the world with you, Mr. Northman, or watch me die."_

Her voice is choked with pain and desperation as she holds her arms out at her side, her blood gushing down her fingers and pooling on the floor beneath her.

My mind whirls at a speed only a vampire can accomplish. My blood can't heal her, she's lost too much of her own already for me to undo the damage she's caused and simply glamour our night together away. Her slowing heartbeat drums in my ears, she's getting pale, and I can tell her legs won't hold her up for much longer.

I should leave her here to die.

Even as the thought crosses my mind, I know it's not an option. I look away from her, unable to meet her eyes at the foreign emotions the thought of her closing her eyes forever brings forth. The very idea of this woman I barely know rotting away in her grave to bones and dust is something I cannot bear.

She was meant for more than this life. I knew it the moment I laid eyes on her, fighting against her attacker in that empty, dark street.

Godric's words echo in my ears once again. _You will know when it's time to become a maker, my son. You will know._

My eyes snap back to Pamela. She's moments from collapsing. My fangs drop as I flash to her side. I catch her in my arms just as she falls, lowering us both gracefully to the blood-soaked floor, growling at her all the while for forcing me to make this decision.

Although I know the truth with every fiber of my being. She isn't forcing me to do anything.

_You will know._

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**A/N: Should I keep on keepin' on, kids? Review, perhaps?**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: The people have spoken. It continues. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

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My eyes flutter open moments before sunset.

Three long days and two even longer nights I've spent underground, resting and waiting, wrapped around the tiny frame of my progeny. Wondering if I did everything right, if I waited too long to make my decision, if she will rise. And tonight's the night that I will find the answers to those questions.

Slowly, I begin to free myself from the dirt. This winter in San Francisco hasn't terribly cold, nothing like where I came from, but the dirt has settled, and the ground is hard. I break the surface, pulling myself up onto the grass, shaking the dirt from my hair and what few clothes I had managed to get on before _it _happened. My head snaps up when I hear a sound, looking around for it's source.

After I left the brothel with Pamela in my arms, I brought her to a graveyard I had seen on the outskirts of town, burying us both on top of coffin in a freshly dug grave. The graveyard was secluded, not a soul in sight as I worked that night, quickly displacing the soft earth, laying Pamela's cold body inside before climbing in after her.

But upon rising, I found we were not alone. Someone was unlucky enough to have witnessed a vampire crawling out of a grave as the sun set, unlucky enough to have been at the wrong place at the wrong time: a new vampire's birth.

In a flash, I'm before the vagrant, effortlessly ensnaring him in my glamour.

"You want to come with me, don't you?"

He nods, his eyes devoid of thought or emotion. I lean in, smelling him. He doesn't smell as horrible as many of the homeless humans I've encountered in this town, and he will serve his purpose quite well as my child's first meal, someone who will not be missed after she no doubt drains him dry.

He follows me halfway back to where Pamela still lies, before I stop and turn on him, startling the glamoured human.

"Do not move," I command, smirking as he freezes in his place, holding a comical and uncomfortable-looking pose. I shrug, and make my way back to the grave, plucking a fresh, pink rose from a bouquet recently placed against the headstone, taking a seat on it to wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

For the thousandth time since I drained her, I question myself. My ancient mind runs through everything Godric had ever said about turning a human, which didn't amount to much. As time wears on, I become more and more concerned that I didn't do something right. Why isn't she rising?

I certainly didn't plan on becoming a maker. I did not go to her brothel three nights ago with the intention to make this woman my progeny. If she _doesn't _rise, I should be relieved. Relieved of the responsibility, the headache that caring for and training a baby vampire would entail. Something I did not want, do not have time for.

But yet, I sit here…worrying. I do not worry. About anything. Ever. And as the minutes tick by, I feel panic rising in me, just as the moon rises higher in the night sky. She should have risen by now, and just as it did that night, the mere idea of this woman that I hardly even know being finally dead, left cold in a stranger's grave, bothers me in a way I have yet to put my finger on.

But then I feel it.

It begins as a little buzzing in the back of my head, not unlike that of Godric that I've felt every night for nine hundred years since he found me on my funeral pyre. But then that buzzing grows, changes. A warm feeling floods my chest. She's rising, my Pamela, my child.

Excitement rushes through me as I see the freshly turned soil before me beginning to move, gracefully leaping up off the gravestone to my feet. I school myself immediately though, taking a step back, twirling the long stem of the rose between my fingertips, letting her find her own way out of her earthen grave, take that first step from her human life into her vampire life.

I can feel it the second she awakes fully. Fear cuts through me, crippling in it's strength, as she no doubt realizes she's buried alive. My instinct is to rescue her, to dig her out, pull her free; but just as Godric did the night I rose, I wait patiently.

Soon, a pale, slender hand breaks the surface, followed by another. I stand by, watching her struggle to free herself for what seems like an eternity before I can take it no longer.

Reaching down, I grasp one hand and wrench her up, sputtering, from the dirt. Bloody tears streak her ivory cheeks as she blinks at me in shock, her eyes not moving from my face as I step back, taking her in silently.

My progeny. My child. My _creation._

She's _breathtaking._

There was something about her that drew me to her that first night, caused me to step in and save her from her attacker, when I had stood in the shadows and watched many a murder take place in cities and towns all over this continent and several others over the years. Her lack of fear in the face of danger, her sharp tongue, but I'd be lying to myself if I said her striking beauty didn't intrigue me first and foremost that night, and the night after when I returned to her, seeking the pleasures of her body.

Beautiful as she was in life, death has transformed her. Her already flawless skin is pale and perfect, even streaked with dirt and blood. Her loose blonde curls are tumbling down her back and over her shoulders, almost glowing in the soft moonlight.

My eyes travel up her body, follow her every curve, visible as they are through the sheer robe she died in, an unneeded breath catching in my throat at the sight of her face. Those huge blue eyes, glittering now in an inhuman way, locked on mine; her tears born of the fear and frustration of waking up underground coming to a stop.

The shock has faded from her face. Her full lips, redder than I remembered them, quirk up as she turns, taking in everything around her, looking down at the grass, no doubt hearing the wind whispering through the trees. I watch, amused, as she turns her face up to the sky, looking at the moon for a moment, before she completes her circle, facing me again.

And then, she _laughs_.

I do not know what I was expecting, but it wasn't that.

A tinkling, musical sound, it cuts through the cool night air. Her lips curl into that grin, an intriguing mixture of innocence and wickedness that makes me ache. I watch her carefully as she takes a step towards me, looking down at her as she closes the distance between us. It's as if the very air crackles electrically between us, and I wonder if she can feel it the way I do. Her blood, _my blood, _in her veins calling out desperately for it's source, for her maker, for me.

She's still smiling, her eyes wide in childlike wonder, and I find myself unable to stop the corner of my own mouth from quirking up in return as I silently hold out the single rose grasped between my fingertips to her, feeling every bit the schoolboy, at a loss for words. For the first time I can recall, I don't know what to say, what to do.

I watch as she takes it in her hand, so tiny in comparison to my own, and brings it to her nose, her eyes fluttering closed as she inhales deeply.

Even after all these years, I can still vividly remember my first night as a vampire. Pamela has the distinct advantage of already knowing what she is now, whereas I did not, and it took many days for Godric to explain it to me, convince me of it. So where I spent my first night in shock, in fear, of what I was, of what I had become; she seems to be able to enjoy the difference between her life and her death, literally taking time to stop and smell the roses.

All of your senses come alive in a way a human cannot fathom the moment you awaken vampire. Your sense of sight explodes, lighting up the darkness; every blade of grass, every star, every little detail that goes unnoticed to the human eye becomes effortlessly visible. A sense of smell that bests even that of the sharpest bloodhound. Hearing that takes in every sound for farther than your eye can see. Sight, smell, sounds…

_Touch. Taste._

Her nose is still buried in the pink flower when I tentatively reach out, running my fingers across the line of her jaw, turning her face up to mine. She slowly lifts her eyes to my face, that soft smile still curving her lips.

I open my mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. For the first time in what is nearing a millennia walking this earth, I've been rendered speechless. What is there to say? I can't pretend to be angry with her for her actions, it was my choice, and I made it. I hardly know her, but yet looking at her,_ feeling _her as I am through our connection…I'm not used to feeling things. Anything, besides hunger, and lust, and rage.

Before I can speak, though, she does.

"Thank you, Mr. Northman."

Somewhat taken aback by her first words as a vampire, I can only smile as I slide my hand down to cup the back of her neck, my fingers burying themselves in her soft, blonde locks.

"Eric. I think we're far past 'Mr. Northman' at this point."

She nods, finally breaking our gaze, her eyes shifting down and to the right, suddenly shy.

"Eric," she repeats, as if she's trying it out, still not meeting my gaze. I find I do not like it. Using my thumb, my fingers still wrapped around the nape of her neck, I tilt her chin up again.

"Pamela," I murmur in response as I lower my head to hers, pulling her closer by my grip on her neck, bringing our faces level.

"I am grateful," she whispers, her eyes dropping once again, this time to my lips, before they flicker back up to my eyes.

I arch an eyebrow, my lips just a breath away from hers now, barely noticing the dirt and blood streaking her face anymore. Quickly I'm becoming consumed by my desire for this woman, just as I was the night I turned her.

My voice drops to a purr as I feel her shift even closer, her both of her small hands shakily coming up to rest on my bare chest, the petals of the rose she still clutches softly brushing my skin.

"How grateful?"

Not giving her a chance to answer, I swiftly claim her lips, and she immediately responds, parting her lips for me. My free hand finally joins it's mate, cradling her face as I kiss her softly. I can feel her nails scrape my skin as her hands slide up my chest, resting on my shoulders as her body melts into mine.

_Touch. Taste._

My hand makes it's way down from her neck to her lower back, my arm banding around her as I pull her impossibly closer. Her robe, practically non-existent anyway, has fallen open slightly, and we both groan into our kiss as our cool skin makes contact. Breaking away from her sweet lips, I bend down, sucking and licking down her neck to her exposed shoulder, and when I bite down lightly with my blunt, human teeth, a _snick _cuts through the quiet of the night, followed by Pamela's gasp.

Pulling back, a genuine smile cracks my features at the shock on her face as her hand reaches up, tentatively touching one slender finger to her newly exposed fangs. Her eyes flash to mine, questioningly, and I reach up as well, cupping her cheek as my thumb strokes one elongated tooth. Pearly white, and amusingly tiny in comparison to mine; but just like her, they're perfect and delicate and dainty and…

"Beautiful," I whisper, surprising us both.

Her eyes flutter closed at my words, before they open again, deep blue pools of lust and want and need. Something inside of me screams at the sight of her, looking up at me like that…something that almost forces the word _mine _from my lips, something that calls on my every instinct to throw her down in the dirt and claim her this very instant.

But I manage, with great effort, to rein it in.

"You are thirsty," I state simply, remembering all too well what it felt like when I rose. That burning in your throat you're not sure how to quench. She nods imperceptibility.

"Yes, sir. Very."

I smile, shifting my gaze to the human man still standing off to the side, oblivious to us. I take her hand, pulling her over to the man, placing her rose on top of a headstone as we pass by. I'm anxious to give her her first lesson. The most important lesson I'll ever teach her, but no doubt the first of very, very many..

My eager student comes to stand in front of the small man, looking at him curiously, her nervousness and anxiety slowly creeping through my blood, through our bond, intertwining with her hunger, so strong my own fangs run out.

Standing so close behind her that I can feel the fabric from her robe brushing my chest, I bow my head, my lips at her ear as I begin to speak.

"Calm down," I murmur, my voice low and more soothing than I would have thought I was capable of, my hands coming to rest on her hips. "Close your eyes, Pamela. Listen. Can you hear his heartbeat? The blood it pumps through his veins?"

She nods, and my lips drop to her neck, my fangs grazing her skin, eliciting a groan from her lips. "Do not be afraid, min kära. This is who you are now. You are at the top of the food chain. We _are_ fear. We are death." Gathering her long hair in one hand, I push her curls over one shoulder, leaving her neck exposed to my calming attentions, my hands stroking along her curves over the sheer fabric of her gown. "No human can hurt you any longer, Pamela. They are yours, all of them, to savor, to do with as you please. Are you hungry, my sweet?"

She nods, her head leaned back against me as my lips press against her ear again, my voice a low growl. I'm hungry as well, hungry for her, for her pleasure. "Follow your instincts, Pamela." My fingers wrap around one slender wrist, my thumb stroking where her pulse used to beat. "You can drink from here. But you'll find arterial blood much more…_enjoyable._" My lips slide down, to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, my fangs just barely piercing her soft skin, smirking as she whimpers. "Here."

I band my arm around her as I step closer, pulling her flush against my body, my hand slipping into her robe, spanning her stomach, as my other hand releases her wrist, gripping her thigh before it begins to slide up her leg. "And my personal favorite, as I'm sure you _remember…" _My wandering hand slides between her thighs, pressing on her femoral artery, where I drank from her a few nights before. "Here."

I feel her knees begin to buckle as I barely graze the juncture of her thighs before I reluctantly pull my hand away. "Take him, Pamela. Humans are nothing to us. Food. Nourishment. Cattle." I watch over her shoulder, never releasing her, as she reaches out, tilting the man's head away from her, her fingers gently tracing the vein she can see throbbing there with life.

Suddenly, she grabs a handful of his hair, and with a kittenish growl, she yanks him against her. With expert precision, she sinks her little fangs into the man's neck, moaning loudly when the first mouthful of his blood hits her parched throat.

It's quite an experience for me, to feel someone feeding second-hand like this. She's a natural, much more precise than I was my first time, barely spilling a drop as she rips deeper into his flesh, gorging herself on his blood, swallowing mouthful after mouthful.

She was meant for more than her human life. She was _born _for this.

I knew it the moment I saw her in that alleyway, facing her pitiful human attacker. It's what drew me to her, what brought me to her the second night, even if I couldn't admit it to myself at the time.

_She makes a magnificent vampire. My magnificent vampire._

Through our connection, it's as if I'm feeding. Normally, I try not to kill my meals unless I have to, but there's no stopping a baby vampire. She doesn't want to stop, I wouldn't bother trying. And I'm beginning to fear I may not be able to deny this tiny woman anything, ever, for all of the eternity that lay before us. Feeding and sex are so intertwined to vampires, and I can feel her lust boiling over just as mine is, as I still grip her tightly against me, letting her feel what she's done to me pressing hard into her back.

I want her. It's almost time for her second lesson. Time for me to show her who she belongs to, who she'll _always _belong to, who her master is.

My hands start wandering again as she drinks her fill, untying the little bow that the belt of her robe is knotted into. My hands slip underneath the parted lapels, palming her breasts, pinching and pulling, before one drops lower, and lower, diving between her silky thighs.

An orgasm rips through her tiny body almost the second I touch her, my expert fingers and her first meal providing too much sensation at once. I sink my fangs into her shoulder, drawing deeply on the wound with a growl, but yet she still doesn't pull away from the mans neck for at least another full minute. I can smell his death as she drains him bone-dry, mewling against his skin in distress as his blood flow comes to a stop.

Pulling away from her shoulder, I reach up, grabbing a fistful of her hair, wrenching her mouth away from him. I can only smirk as she lets him fall to the ground, rounding on me, snarling like a dog who has had his bone yanked away from him.

His blood is dripping down her chin, her teeth painted red with it as she bares her cute little fangs at me, her robe hanging open, exposing her dirt-and-blood streaked skin to the open air.

"_More," _she growls. She sounds like an angry kitten, and much to her apparent irritation, I laugh out loud.

"More, Madam Pamela? More what? Blood?" I smile mockingly at her as I kick off my boots, my fingers deftly unbuttoning my pants. "Sex?"

She snarls again, but her eyes are dancing. Oh, yes. She was an excellent choice. We're going to enjoy each other quite a bit, I can see.

"_Both," _she hisses through clenched teeth.

I shrug, smirking, as I push my pants down my legs. Standing up straight, completely nude before her, I casually reply, "As you wish, m'lady."

In a blink, I'm on her, tackling her to the ground, on top of some poor soul's final resting place. She fights back, all teeth and nails, but I easily overcome her, slamming her tiny wrists to the ground above her head.

I lean down, slowly licking from her blood-streaked shoulder up to her ear, kicking her knees apart with one of my own, pulling back to crush my lips against hers roughly, our fangs crashing together, cutting our tongues and lips. She struggles in vain, trying to free her hands from my iron grip.

"Let me go," she whines pitifully.

My booming laugh echoes around the deserted graveyard.

"You've got a lot left to learn, little girl."

She hisses angrily, but even as she does so, her long, slender legs wrap around my waist, pulling me down on top of her. My eyes snap shut as I press my face into her shoulder, both of us groaning simultaneously as I press my hips into hers.

"Eric," she cries out again as she struggles, "Let me touch you."

"You can touch me when I _allow _you to touch me." Even as I say it, I know it's not true. But my dominance is yet another lesson she must learn, a lesson we will both enjoy greatly. "I am your master, min blodtörstiga barn. You belong to me now. _You are mine." _As I hiss those final words, I slam myself inside of her, snarling as she cries out, struggling with myself to keep still. She feels so good, so _perfect, _as if her tiny body was made for me, a missing puzzle piece. "Say it, Pamela. _Say it."_

She returns my snarl with one of her own, but I can feel her, deep within my blood. How much she wants me, wants this. How incredibly happy she is. Her relief at leaving her old life behind. Her excitement at beginning her new life, her new life with me. Never in my long life have I felt such happiness, giddiness. Everything about her is so new, so refreshing. Something I never knew existed, something I didn't know was missing from my life.

She stops her struggles for a moment, looking up into my eyes, and when she says the words, I feel it. The happiness. And for the first time I can recall, it is my own.

"I'm yours, Eric."

Immediately, I release her wrists, dropping down on my elbows, groaning as her arms wrap around me, her nails digging into my back. I bury my face in her neck so she can't see my smile as I whisper against her skin…

"_This is the beginning."_

* * *

**A/N: If you'll need me, I'll be sobbing in a corner because PARIC FEELINGS.**

**Translations, as per the handy dandy Google Translate:**

**min kära - my sweet**

**min blodtörstiga barn - my bloodthirsty baby/child**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Welcome to Chapter 3 of Breathless, ladies and gents (if there are any gents, which I doubt.) This is the longest chapter I've written...ever. I hope you enjoy reading, I sure enjoyed writing. It has it's fluffy moments, it's lemony moments, but overall, I'm drowning in my Paric feelings after writing it. I want to shout THEIR LOVE IS LEGENDARY! from a mountaintop or some shit. But I'll attempt to contain myself. Anyway, on with the show.**

* * *

"Is it what you hoped for?"

My question breaks into the complete silence of the night, the only sounds until that point being the crickets chirping and the wind rustling through the trees and grass around us, and Pamela's occasional attempt at breathing out of habit next to my ear.

"Hmm?" she hums against my skin, her face buried in my neck. I close my eyes as I feel her eyelashes fluttering against me.

"You asked me what it was like to be what I am," I say, my fingertips running down the ridges of her backbone. "Now you know."

I can feel her nod before she speaks. "It's…exhilarating."

Chuckling, I turn my lips into her hair as I answer, "Indeed, it is."

After tucking her head under my chin, we lapse into silence again, my eyes searching the night sky as I lie on my back in the grass, gravestones scattered around us. My new progeny lay sprawled completely on top of me, wrapped in my arms. Noticing the position of the moon, I realize just how long we've been out here in this cemetery; the sun will be rising soon, sending us running for cover.

For hours, we had fucked. Everywhere, and every way; we had used each other, abused each other. In Pamela, I have truly met my match. Unbidden, a grin crosses my lips. I had fucked other vampires over the years, sure, but none had ever worn _me _out. My child was quite the bedmate before I made her mine, and in this form, she was unstoppable.

Good thing I don't plan on stopping. We have an eternity.

I can feel her lips begin to move against my neck, kissing the vein that would be pulsing with life if I were human.

"Did you enjoy feeding, Pamela?"

The question spills from my lips before I can stop it, my face screwing up in confusion at my own talkativeness. I've always been a man of few words, just like my maker before me. It had been so long since I last traveled with Godric, so long since I had someone to talk to, to question, to share my thoughts with, no matter how inane they may be.

And, there was just something about this slight-framed woman in my arms. Even before I made her vampire, I wanted to talk with her. Know her. I had laid there, conversing with her, long after the time I paid for was up. Long after our debt was settled. I had allowed a human woman to question me, defy me. To make demands of me. Any other human would have had their throats removed before the words could pass their lips.

_But not her._

"I did," her soft voice interrupts my inner musings, "very much."

I sit up suddenly, pulling her up with me so we're eye to eye. She groans, her eyes fluttering shut, as she settles her weight in my lap, still impaled on my length as she had been since she collapsed on top of me after our last seemingly endless round of love-making.

I grin wolfishly as I wait for her to open her eyes again, which she does, staring down at me through her lashes.

"And the sex?"

The corner of her mouth twists up in a smirk as she shrugs one pale, bare shoulder.

"It was alright, I suppose."

I laugh loudly, the sound echoing around us, resonating into the night. She amuses me.

My hands slide down to grip her narrow waist, effortlessly pulling her up, then slowly lowering her back down onto me again; watching, enraptured, as she throws her head back with a low moan, the ends of her long blonde hair brushing the tops of my thighs. I wait until she rolls her head to look down at me again, her hands coming to rest on my shoulders to steady herself.

"Just 'alright', Pamela?"

Using her grip on my shoulders, she takes over, slowly rolling her hips, setting a sensual pace as her body slowly rises and falls, completely oblivious to the power I've given her. I don't, with _anyone_, much less a vampire, allow anyone to take control over me like this. My dominance is unwavering in all aspects of my life. Unwavering until now, that is. It's been wavering a lot already, and she's not yet even a full night old.

She presses her forehead to mine as she continues to move, my hands on her waist still guiding her, as she finally manages to speak, "Far as I can remember, anyway, the sex was alright." At my responding growl at the audacity of this woman, she laughs. _Laughs._ While she's fucking me. _M__e:_ the ancient, foul-tempered, bloodthirsty beast who's snarling in her face in the middle of a deserted graveyard, she laughs.

She's fucking _delightful._

"Perhaps I just need a reminder?"

Her hips start to pick up speed, but I grasp them in my large hands, holding her still as I find her lips, bringing her movements to a halt, much to her dismay. She whimpers against them, and I pull back, tugging on her pouting bottom lip with my teeth.

Leaning back so I can see her face, I tell her, "The sun will rise soon, min söta."

"So?"

"So?" I repeat, incredulous for a moment before I laugh sharply. "This, my dear, is the problem with making demands when you are not fully informed. I honestly pegged you for a better businesswoman."

Ah, angry again. I can feel it, her blood boiling. Amusing creature.

"Can vampires really not walk in the sun?" she asks, looking down at me, both eyebrows practically up in her hairline.

"We cannot."

She's silent for a moment before she shrugs. "I suppose my profession didn't allow me to sunbathe all that often as it was."

I smile at her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She adapts so easily, a wonderful quality for one so young to already possess. Returning my grip to her hips, I pull her off of my lap before standing and placing her on her feet beside me, all the while ignoring her protests.

I can feel those blue doe eyes boring into me as I walk back to gather my trousers and what's left of the robe she was wearing. Her lust surges through me as I bend over to pull on my pants, and I can hear her soft footsteps in the grass as she comes up behind me.

"You need to work on your sneaking skills, Pamela."

"Who says I'm trying to be sneaky?" she asks, before adding, "How long do we have until sunrise?"

I turn back to face her, holding out the robe expectantly, watching as she slides her slender arms into the sleeves. Gathering her hair in my hands, I pull it free from underneath the robe, watching as it spills down her back like a golden, wavy waterfall, barely brushing the curves of her hips, which are visible through the sheer fabric of the robe. Unable to resist her, I band an arm around her waist, pulling her back against my chest, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

"Feel it, Pamela. Do you feel a pull?"

She shakes her head. "Only towards you. Or, maybe. I don't know, Eric." She huffs in exasperation. "How long?"

I sigh, rolling my eyes although she can't see my face. "A half an hour, or so."

She spins in my arms, turning to face me, her fingers running up my bare chest. "Let's have sex again."

"Pamela," I reply, struggling to keep my tone soft, "there is no time."

"Earlier, when I asked if we could have sex again, you said, quote," her voice deepens, mocking me perfectly, "'Pamela, there's always time for sex.' In fact, I believe you told me that was a very important vampire lesson."

"You talk too fucking much." I smirk as she scowls, offering her my hand. "And you're irritatingly insubordinate. Come."

She takes my hand, following me without question for a few paces before she stops suddenly, forcing me to do the same. I turn to her, arching an eyebrow as I ask, "What is it now?"

"Where are we going?"

"My home," I answer shortly, growing more irritated by the second. I give her hand a sharp pull, throwing her forward a few feet, despite her attempt to keep her bare feet planted where they are.

I look back to see her shaking her head. "I have a home, Eric. My girls, my business…I have to go back…"

I only stare at her for a moment, taken aback by the panic rising in her, before I pull her to me by my grip on her hand, letting go to fold her into my chest. I hadn't given much thought to this. I didn't think she'd _want_ to go back.

"You cannot go back, Pamela. Ever."

Both of us are silent for a moment as the weight of my statement settles in, before she finally speaks again, her voice cracking.

"Why not?"

"We must go, Pamela. Now."

Without waiting for her to acknowledge me, I simply scoop her up in my arms, and launch myself into the night. At first, she screams bloody murder, but after a moment she relaxes, resting her cheek against my shoulder as she hangs on for dear life, until my feet touch the ground outside the home I've commandeered for the time being, sitting her down on her bare feet in the soft grass in front of the sprawling, two story mansion.

I had come across it, and intrigued by the prospect of indoor plumbing and electricity, I glamoured the housekeeper into believing I was an old friend of the owner's who apparently summer here, welcome to stay as long as I pleased. The old man was mostly blind anyway, it seemed, and without additional glamour appeared to be more than happy to serve me without pestering me with questions. Unlike someone else I know.

Taking Pamela's shaking hand, I begin to stride towards the porch, stopping to look down at her when she seems unwilling to move. Her eyes are wide, looking more like a terrified little girl than the strong, fierce woman I already know her to be.

"A mule would be less stubborn than you are, woman. Do you want to burst into flames when the sun comes up?"

"You...you can fly," is her answer.

"It would seem so," I answer flatly. "One of my many, many talents, my darling."

She ignores my leer, asking, "Can I fly?"

"Not yet, but perhaps some day you will. I didn't gain the ability until I was well over five-hundred years old."

Her eyes move to mine finally, but her face is curiously blank, but for her eyes, wide with confusion and shock. "Five hundred years old? How old are you?"

I shrug carelessly, "Not sure. Nearing a thousand, I believe."

Her huge eyes grow even wider as she gapes at me. As well as she had adapted at first, it all appears to be catching up to her. Shell-shocked is a word that comes to mind to describe her, and I wonder momentarily if I've been too harsh with her, although the thought alone almost causes me to laugh out loud. I've treated her with kid gloves since the moment she rose, and if I'm honest with myself, I'm worried I'm in danger of treating her that way for the rest of my nights.

Closing the distance between us, I cradle her cheeks in my hands, studying her face. "We need to go inside. I'm not going to ask you again."

"What happens to us during the day?"

"We go to ground, where we'll die for the day..."

"Die?" she squeaks, interrupting me, starting to tremble under my touch; two fresh, bloody tears suddenly racing each other down her already stained cheeks. And with those two tiny beads of blood, I realize how truly fucked I already am, as I almost hit my knees to beg her to stop.

Swiping away her tears with my thumbs, I press my lips to her forehead as I whisper, "Please, don't." The word please is almost difficult to form on my tongue, so unaccustomed am I to even saying it. I'm not even sure what I'm asking. Please don't cry. Please don't be afraid. Please don't refuse to come inside, to safety, with me. Please don't hate what I've turned you into, what you _begged_ me to turn you into.

When she only sniffles in response, I bend down, scooping her up bridal-style. Almost immediately, she molds herself to me, pressing her face into my neck. As I begin to stride towards the house, desperate to cheer her up, I lean down to whisper in her ear, "Let's go inside. We'll get you cleaned up, and then you can pelt me with your endless, annoying questions until the moment your eyes close."

I can feel her smile against my skin as I carry her up the steps, unsurprised when the door is thrown open, the housekeeper, Winston, taking us in with his squinting eyes.

"Master Northman."

I nod by way of greeting, although he probably can't see it, "Winston."

"Long night, I presume?" he chuckles as I walk past him, Pamela still nestled in my arms. If, with his poor vision, he even sees her, he doesn't comment. Good help knows better than to question their employers.

"Very long indeed, Winston. Very long, indeed."

* * *

A few minutes later, we're both reclined in the opulent tub, the likes of which I had never seen before I came to this part of America, in the bathroom off of the master bedroom, which just so happened to be light tight. She had perked up considerably at the promise of a hot bath, and I had thoroughly enjoyed bathing every inch of her, taking pleasure in the rare opportunity to experience something I've never experienced before.

After we both were clean, free of the dirt and blood streaking us both, she had nestled herself against me, laying her cheek against my shoulder, closing her eyes. If I didn't know better, I would think she had fallen asleep. My fingers lazily comb through the wet tendrils of her long hair as we lapse into comfortable silence, soaking up the warmth the water offers our cool bodies.

Never, if I lived another thousand years, would I had imagined I would be spending the wee hours of the morning like this, if you had asked me a mere three days ago. This is a level of intimacy I have never experienced in my long life, not even with my own maker; and what's more is this woman, whose dainty frame is all but wrapped around me, is almost a complete stranger. And yet, I do not feel discomforted. I usually remove myself from my bedmates almost immediately, if they remain among the living after I'm through with them, that is.

Never have I held a woman like this, not even in my human life. Never have I had a body in my arms for any other reason besides gaining some sort of satisfaction, rather that be of my hunger or my lust. Never have I wanted someone near me just for the sake of closeness. I could blame it on the blood, my blood which calls out for hers even now, but I know better. Did I not lie there, simply watching her sleep, watching her breathe, our first night together? Before she was mine, before she had my blood?

I think back to her request the night I turned her, when she told me to make her and leave her, bristling at the mere thought of not having _this_. Something I have never had, have never wanted, and already I question if I could live without it.

Her emotions flicker through me like wildfire, constantly changing direction, morphing; it's a bizarre for me, a man at my very core despite the beast I was made into, to experience the way a woman thinks and feels. At the moment, she seems to be teetering between acceptance and a sense of mourning, no doubt for what she'll be leaving behind.

After a while, I choose to break our silence. "Do you feel better now, min söta?"

She nods against my shoulder before she leans her head back to look at me. "What's that?" When I arch an eyebrow in question, she adds, "What you keep calling me. Men serta. Will you teach me?"

I chuckle, running a finger down her jaw, pleased that she would want to learn to speak my mother tongue."Min söta," I correct her. "It's Swedish, I suppose. That's the closest language to what I spoke as a human."

"Oh," she breathes, "what does it mean?"

"My sweet."

She scoffs, but her smile is genuine. "I am _not_ sweet, Mr. Northman."

My chuckle morphs into a motoring growl as I pull on her arm until she sits upright, straddling my lap, the water rippling around her.

"Certain parts of you are sweet, at least," I say, my amusement tinging my voice as my fingers brush the sides of her breasts. "I could call you many things besides sweet, min söta. Envis, stubborn. Or skitunge, brat." My smile only grows wider as she scowl deepens, continuing on, "Krävande, demanding. And since you wanted to stay out and greet the sunrise, there's självmordsbenägen, suicidal, but that's a mouthful..."

"Eric..."

I ignore her pouting, and continue, "Mouthful is munfull, although that would be a better name for me..."

"Eric..."

"Yes, min envisa lilla skitunge?" I ask with a laugh, but my smile falters at the seriousness written on her face.

"I'm sorry for how I acted earlier. It was a lot to take in."

My expression softens as I reach up, combing her hair back from her face with my fingers. "I know it is, Pamela. I remember."

"I don't understand why, Eric."

Although her statement is vague, I know immediately what she is speaking of.

"You are no longer human," I say softly, my fingers stroking her cheek. "You cannot live among humans anymore."

"But who will protect them?"

"Who would protect you if you stayed?" I ask, my voice sharp, letting my question sink in. "Me? The last person seen with you before you disappeared, leaving nothing but a pool of blood behind? They think I murdered you, Pamela. If they saw me, they would attempt to kill me, and I would slaughter them all, happily. Is that what you want?"

Her mouth falls open, red tears rimming her eyes from my harshness, but she allows me to pull her into my embrace, my voice losing it's hard edge, feeling her through our bond. She's suddenly terrified, and genuinely worried over the well-being of her former employees. "Hush, now," I purr in her ear, "Listen to me. You are a vampire now, Pamela. You look different, you behave different than you did before. It is not our way to remain around the places we called home as humans. They would turn on you. They would think you to be a monster."

"I'm not a monster," she breathes against my cheek, "I knew you weren't a monster when I met you, no matter what I saw you do."

"And I questioned your intelligence at first. Pamela, we _are_ monsters. Vacker död, beautiful death," I pause as I feel her arms encircling my neck, pulling her little body flush against mine, the sensation of her breasts, slick from the water, against my chest making my fangs descend with a click. I continue, whispering against her skin as my lips trail down her neck, "We live in the shadows, darling, that's what monsters do. We kill..." My fangs scrape harshly against her throat, drawing both her blood and a gasp from her lips. My tongue laps up the drops of blood beading up from the wounds, as I murmur, "We feed..." In a flash of movement too quick for human eyes to follow, I've lifted her up above me by her waist, my eyes locking onto hers as I slowly lower her onto my length, growling at her, "We _fuck_."

She moans as I fill her completely, as I groan at the tightness that surrounds me, her body slotting perfectly against me as if she were born to be mine. Banding one arm tightly around her waist, the other tangling in her hair, I pull her face up to mine as I begin to move beneath her slowly, watching the pleasure on her features intently as she relishes the sensations of me being so deeply inside of her. On the outside, my face is calm, but inside I'm going nuts. This bond we now share, being a maker, is like nothing I've ever experienced before. Feeling every ounce of her pleasure, her lust, her _need _for me, is almost surreal, almost too intense.

Pulling her lips to mine with my grip on her hair, I kiss her deeply, allowing her fangs slice my tongue, unable to hide my grin at her reaction to the small taste of my blood. Pulling back fractionally, I murmur to her between kisses, "You cannot go back, min perfekta barn, but you must move forward." Letting go of her, I allow her to set her own pace, watching her face as she moves over me, my hands running wild all over her body as I speak, the softness of my tone contrasting with the roughness of my touch. "I will give you a life you couldn't have imagined in your wildest dreams, Pamela…"

My hands slide up to her face, cupping her cheeks as I kiss her, my words spilling from my lips without a second thought, knowing she can feel my absolute truthfulness. "I told you that night, Pamela: greater than any marriage, stronger than any human bond. Do you remember my words, min söta?"

"_Eric_," she moans; my name on her lips at this moment is no doubt the most beautiful, sexiest thing I've ever heard. Grunting as she starts moving faster, bringing us both closer to the end, her movements causing the water to lap over the edge of the tub; I grip her chin, silently demanding an answer. "Yes," she finally groans, her voice a breathy whisper, "I remember…"

"Good," I whisper in return, my voice low and hoarse, more heavily accented than usual, even to my own ears. I slide my hand down between our bodies, touching and caressing expertly along their path, into the water that surrounds us. "I am laying the world at your feet, min princessa. You will never look back, Pamela, I swear it."

I can't help but smile as she looks down at me, her eyes wide despite her pleasure, glittering darkly in the candlelight, her pearly fangs down and glinting. I can feel how close she is, and I know I can't take much more. Cupping the back of her head, I pull her down to me, whispering as I bare my neck to my child, "Drink."

As her fangs sink into my throat, my fingers sink between her thighs, barely getting a chance to touch her before she explodes, screaming my name, raring back from my neck with my blood pouring down her chin. A split second later I have her pulled tightly against me as I bite into her shoulder, roaring against her skin as I spill myself inside her, as her blood spills into my mouth as if it's ready to come home, back to it's source. I drink deeply as she groans incoherently, enjoying the taste of her: so similar to my own, but undeniably her own, laced with the sweetness that she denies exists.

Pulling back, not bothering to close the already healing wound, I bury my face in the crook of her neck as she collapses against me, both of us panting unnecessarily, reveling in the aftershocks that reverberate through our bond.

After a few minutes, she sighs happily, and I chuckle as I pull her back by her shoulders.

"The water is gone cold," I state simply, watching as a drop of blood forms and then drips from her nose. I swipe it away with my thumb before she can feel it, not wanting to cause her any more distress this night with explaining the nature of the bleeds.

Standing with her in my arms, I climb out of the bath, sitting her on her feet. Grabbing a towel, I dry her off, and then myself, before picking her back up again.

"I can walk, you know."

I smile down at her as I carry her into the bedroom, laying her down in the mass of white sheets. Striding quickly to the door, I check the locks, before crossing back to the bed, climbing up to lie beside her.

"You couldn't earlier, so I wasn't sure."

She huffs. "I was afraid. I'm still afraid."

"I can feel that. Of what?"

"What's about to happen? Why did you say we would die? Is it going to hurt?"

Smirking at her rapid-fire questions, I sit up enough to grab the heavy winter blanket, pulling it over us both, before pulling her to me, burying my nose in her sweet-smelling hair. "The magic that animates us, only animates us at night, when the sun is down." My hand strokes soothingly down her side as she nestles into me as I whisper in her ear, "Close your eyes, kärlek. It will not cause you pain. You'll be at peace, and then suddenly, you'll be awake again."

"But…" she starts until her voice breaks, and I can feel her swallow thickly. When she begins again, her voice is small, childlike. "What if I don't wake up, Eric? What if this has all been just a dream?"

I can't help but chuckle as I nuzzle her neck. "Sleep, Pamela. You will awaken, and I'll be right here. Every night, for eternity, if you so choose to stay by my side. Is that what you want?" I feel her nod against me as I pull her even closer, adding quietly, "At the moment I'm not sure I would allow you to leave, even if you wanted to, min söta."

But she doesn't hear me. I can feel our bond quiet to a mere buzzing, signifying her presence, nothing more. She's asleep, her first night as a vampire, as my progeny, now behind her.

For a moment, before my own rest takes me, I can't help but wonder if she truly knows how unique she is. If she knows that I've walked this earth for almost a millennia, but even through all my years, she's the first woman who has ever caught my eye. Who I've ever been interested in for more than a quick feed and fuck. The only being on this planet, besides my maker, who has seen me smile. Heard me laugh.

Rested beside me during the day. She's the only woman to ever share my bed.

I will endeavor to make sure she knows, I decide, how unique she is. How perfect.

I can feel the sun taking it's hold over me, and my last thought is of the words I spoke earlier in the evening, not fully realizing the truth of the statement until the moment before the life leaves my body.

This, truly, is the beginning.

* * *

**A/N: Oh geez. Drowning in feels. I hope you enjoyed Pam's first night. **

**I'm not quite ready to be done with this fic. I need to figure out what direction I want to take it. So many fics that cover Pam's turnings jump around from decade to decade, and I'm not sure if that's the route I want to go, or if I want to stick with the early days. Right now, I want to go cry and rock myself in a corner because of my inability to have a canon OTP. Review, if you have time?**

**Swedish translations:**

**min envisa lilla skitunge - my stubborn little brat**

**min söta - my sweet**

**min perfekta barn - my perfect child**

**kärlek - love**


End file.
